


Shamisen Doll

by Sakurthigh



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Alcohol, Asakusa Pleasure District Japan, Blow Job, Early Edo Period Japan, Late Sengoku Period Japan, M/M, Shamisen Players, cross dressing, oiran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurthigh/pseuds/Sakurthigh
Summary: Young Imai is an orphan in the Asakusa pleasure district, in the late Sengoku/early Edo period Japan... a shamisen maiden entertainer with a secret.
Relationships: Atsushi Sakurai/Imai Hisashi
Kudos: 13





	Shamisen Doll

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot fic was originally written and published by myself to LiveJournal on August 4, 2015, and has been imported to Archive of Our Own to preserve it.
> 
> This fic was part of a monthly theme challenge: Time Travel, and takes place in the late Sengoku/early Edo period Japan in the Asakusa pleasure district, the district where high ranking oiran, lesser ranked entertainers, and prostitution were allowed. 
> 
> Sakurai and Imai are young, 狂った太陽 (Kurutta Taiyou) aged.

His hackles raised on alert. There it was again. Looking up from his sake to find the source of the dissonance, his eyes met briefly with one of the girls performing. She looked away, but something was amiss. Her shamisen playing was skilled, no doubt, but at times distastefully rebellious.

Sakurai leaned over to inquire about the hall his host chose this evening. He was a lower ranking daimyo landowner that had insisted they come to the Asakusa pleasure district at the north edge of the city to visit a favored entertainment house. The women were no oiran, this is for certain- it was only a mid-grade tayu house at best, though the women were surprisingly skilled at their craft: music. He’d hired a small group of performers, ones whose specialty was the shamisen. You’d never hear it elsewhere played with such spirit.

This was definitely the case, though it set him on edge. They were playing a traditional folk tune at the moment, one they said came from the furthest western reaches of Kyoto, but from time to time the playing was like nothing he’d ever heard before. Otherworldly. And somewhat dissonant against the others. You could almost say it was strangely flamboyant, as if attempting to gain attention. Completely unacceptable behavior. 

Yes, it was her. He saw her step out of line this time. Her playing was downright bizarre. Their eyes locked. A bold, haughty sparkle glittered in her eyes for a split second, then was gone. She lowered her eyes modestly, leaving him to wonder if he’d even seen what he thought he had. As he watched her too intently, a blush made her ears turn a deep shade of rose beneath the pale white makeup of her station, peering out in sharp contrast at the lines where the cosmetic paste stopped. The planes of her eyes were shallow, almost without lid at all, and had narrow, yet dainty brown eyes that were very expressive. Almost too expressive, given her role this evening. They suggested an inner life that was unseemly for a woman. He was intrigued.

He signaled for the proprietress’s attention. The older woman appeared nervous, but after reassuring her that everything was alright, he requested to meet with this strange shamisen girl after the end of their evening. It was on impulse, but there was something so different about her, he had to. The particular house that they were in was not reputed to be a brothel, however the way of life in the pleasure district was very different from outside its borders… and in the end, her rank as a musician there still placed her outside of good society. 

Sakurai wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do once she was introduced to him. He wanted to hear more of her playing, this much he did know, but sexual favors? Her lips were unusually full but narrow, painted with rich red that echoed in daubs at the corners of her eyes and swept softly over her brow. Exquisite… but there was something “off” about her. Something that was not quite right. He stared at the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips, and felt a stir of arousal he didn’t expect. Though dainty, that willful spirit she radiated -so utterly inappropriate- got under his skin. Perhaps the sake was clouding his judgment. He shifted the fabric of his kimono to conceal the proof of where his mind had wandered as their performance finally came to an end.

________________________________

He thanked his host for inviting him and they parted ways. Given that they were in the pleasure district, no excuse was necessary. The daimyo wished him a good evening at the district gate with a subtle knowing smile that said he knew exactly what was on his itinerary. The early summer night was cool, and fireflies sparkled over the dew jeweled grass as he found his way back to the house that they had left. The proprietress met him at the door, and quietly took him to a separate small room that was towards the back of the building, and left with a bow. He was alone in the tatami mat floored space, illuminated dimly with lamps. 

Sakurai was growing impatient, the awkward nature of his visit making it increasingly difficult to sit still. The gibbous moon wasn’t completely full, and not in view of the garden he looked out upon from the open rice paper wall. Fireflies seeking mates lit with green, then blinked out, dancing near the small pond. 

The sound of the sliding door opening behind him made him wake from the reverie that he’d slipped into, and he turned to see his shamisen player enter, along with the proprietress who was carrying a set of sake on a tray. The elderly woman backed from the room with a bow and smile, and they were at last alone. 

She was silent, kneeling and filling up a sake cup to hand to him, keeping her eyes down. As he accepted the sake from her, their fingers brushed and he made a point to linger rather than take the cup immediately. The blush that had stained her ears and neck so brightly was back in an instant, and her hands trembled. Bowing her head slightly, avoiding eye contact, she pulled her hands away and picked up the shamisen. For how much she had started to tremble at his touch, he was surprised to see that it had no affect on her playing, and he lost himself to it. 

Her tune, though not as brazen and dissonant as earlier, was unique. He’d never heard it before. In fact, he didn’t even recognize the region it came from. The spirit of it seemed to echo the fireflies outside; a gentle, delicate, sleepy melody. He watched the breeze bow and sway a cluster of tall grasses at the rocky edge of the pond, and it made the lamp’s light flicker in the room. The hushed rustle of the ginko leaves from a lone tree there in the garden accompanied her tune, and when the breeze settled down, she stopped playing. 

Sakurai had leaned to his side, supporting himself on his elbow, relaxed from the serene atmosphere she had created. He smiled and asked, “What was that song you just played? It was unfamiliar.” 

She raised her eyes and looked at him shyly, but a spark of strange power shone from her eyes. His breath caught in his throat and his mouth salivated with unusual longing. “Oh,” she said in a whisper, bowing. “My apologies. I was just painting what I was seeing outside the wall, in the garden. I will return to proper music. Forgive me.” 

He grabbed her arm as she bowed again in apology. “No! No… it was lovely. Please continue,” he asked, but didn’t withdraw his hand, making it impossible for her to play. He couldn’t. His chest welled with desire, his heart aching with need. His fingers traced her hand, so delicate. He’d been mesmerized with its grace a few times while she had been playing. But something was not quite right. “I want you.” He’d not expected the words to come from his mouth, but realized their truth when he heard it. 

She stammered and tugged her hand away, apologizing. “I’m sorry. Please excuse me. I must go. I’m… not feeling… I need to go.” Her blush of a moment ago faded as she blanched and scrambled to the door with her shamisen, struggling with the long hems of her layered kimono. 

“Wait! I know.” 

She froze at the door, preparing to slide it open. Her back stiffened. She was trembling again. “What… what… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her shaking hand reached up to the edge of the door, but he caught it in his own and turned her around before she was able to open it. 

“I know that you’re a man. You’ve hidden it well, and kept your voice to a whisper to mask it, but your spirit is not exactly that of a woman. Why? Why are you here?” Her eyes went wide as he spoke. She sighed. 

“Yes, it’s true. My name is Hisashi. I’m the son of one of the women that used to work here years ago… she died in child birth and I have no father. The proprietress raised me as her own, but without a true name, without a family, I’m an outcast. Life would be impossible outside these walls, so she taught me to play the shamisen just like the women here under her care, and I was made to adopt a feminine persona to be able to entertain the men that come through. I’ve never been a pleasure maiden- only a musician. No… no…” she stammered, “…n nobody has ever even asked before.” She, no he, blushed once more. “Now that you’ve had your fun and have shamed me with my secret, I must bid you good evening.” He bowed, distressed, and reached for the door again. 

Sakurai placed his hand on her- no his- shoulder. “Wait. Please. …I still want you.” Was it the sake? He had no idea why this impulse had come over him, but here he was, begging another man to stay with him in the night. He lifted his hand to the man’s makeup whitened chin, and stroked his thumb over his red painted lips. The young man swooned visibly, and his lips parted to the touch. “Wait.” He stood and went to the wall facing the garden, and slid it carefully shut. They were alone now. He moved the low table tray to the corner of the room, out of the way, and sat in the center of the tatami mat floor, gesturing for the young maiden-man to join him. 

Hisashi struggled with indecision, then finally stood, leaving his shamisen on the floor by the door where he’d put it down in his desperate scramble to escape. The padded hem of his outer kimono caught under his heel when he got up, and he gathered it in folds, lifting it free so he wouldn’t trip, then sat next to him. The grace of his movements fascinated Sakurai- grace trained into him over years by the mistress of the establishment. He’d worked hard to conceal his gender from the customers, but now, that grace flattered his delicate build, a build that no longer was hidden from the knowledge of its maleness. It added a strange appeal to the man that Sakurai had never experienced before from another man. 

He took Hisashi’s hand and massaged it, soothing it after the long evening of playing. The considerate gesture made the musician smile. It occurred to him that likely this young man had never experienced the kind of consideration that a fellow man would have received, given his skill level with the shamisen. He’d been hiding as a woman his whole life. He switched over to massage the other hand, and his fingers played over the callouses he found on its tips. 

The young maiden-man sighed and closed his eyes to the soothing pleasure of his music exhausted fingers being stretched and massaged, and Sakurai watched him. The lovely sweep of his painted nape curved above the low draped neck of the back of his kimono, exposed by the flawless groomed hair that was tucked up and pinned into rolls identical to the other women of the house. It was fascinating. And it suited him. 

He paused in his massage, and Hisashi’s eyes opened, made aware that he’d let his guard down. Sakurai continued to gaze at his nape, then reached out to stroke the fine hairs at the edge of where his hair met his neck. Their eyes met. Pleasure and shy desire swirled in his brown eyes. “I…” he sighed, blushing. “…I didn’t realize how sensual it could be to just have your hands touched.” His administrations had him flushed with longing, aroused. 

Sakurai released the hand he had been soothing, and stroked the fabric of the front edge of his feminine kimono. His hand passed lower, below the obi and ties that held it together, to his hips. The back of his knuckles grazed under the fabric, brushing over the young man’s cock. He was hard. Lust and a twinge of fear surged in him, and he looked up to see the musician’s eyes grow hooded and teary. His head dropped back, and he moaned a soft moan, uncaring anymore to conceal his state of arousal. Absolutely beautiful. 

But how to proceed? He didn’t even know. This was a man. His fingers found their way beneath the layers of kimono on their own though, and stroked Hisashi’s length, bound upward in the fundoshi loincloth ties. He gasped, and pressed into Sakurai’s palm. His own hips rocked forward, his cock demanding attention. 

Hisashi looked at him as his hips thrust, and he bit his lip in indecision. His lips parted, but nothing could come out- his voice had choked to nothing, and he swallowed in nervousness. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then a look of uneasy decision crossed his face. He reached out to Sakurai’s own kimono, and opened the front, and shifted his loincloth out of the way, then knelt, gazing into his eyes as he bent down and did the unthinkable: he took Sakurai’s erect cock into his mouth. 

Sakurai gasped and tried to push him back, horrified at what the musician had done, but his arms ended up falling limply, his fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer instead. He cried out, unheeding of anyone that might be able to hear him. Tears of pleasure filled his eyes. Hisashi’s awkward initial movements became more skilled as he grew comfortable with what he was doing to the other man, remembering the landscape of the areas of his own body that felt pleasure the most. 

His tongue caressed the underside of his cock, then over the rim of the crown, and back to the underside again. “I’m not going to be able to last very long with this… this.. I’ve never felt anything like it.” Sakurai whispered, warning him of the speed of his approaching climax. “Be careful… please… not much more…”

Sakurai’s hand closed around the man’s cock and stroked, passing his thumb over the slick tip of it. The head was engorged, clearly just as close to orgasm as his own. That discovery was all it took to throw him to the point of no return, but Hisashi didn’t stop when he pressed back on his shoulder. It was all he could do to not thrust like he needed to desperately, to not choke the man who was bringing him to his peak. 

A groan escaped him and he came, arching back and fighting the impulse to lunge foreword, into the man’s throat. He could feel each burst of his seed crash into the back of the man’s mouth, deflecting back onto his own cock’s head from the force of his ejaculation. Incredibly, Hisashi’s body wracked with his own pleasure, seconds after his climax had started. He came from having another man orgasm into his mouth? Or was it from hearing him come? He knew that it wasn’t from his own hand’s skill for certain- he’d stopped, forgetting to stroke him in his own release. 

As their bodies shuddered their last, Sakurai eased the shamisen musician off of his overly sensitive cock, and into his arms, where he held him close. “I… I should go now.” Hisashi told him. “We weren’t quiet, and… well… being with a male customer. This can’t be found out. There’s a doorway out of the garden that leads to the road behind the house, where you can leave in safety, undisturbed.” He pushed Sakurai away and stood, arranging his kimono folds back into their proper order before walking to the door and picking up his shamisen with a shaking hand, and smiled shyly over his shoulder. “Good night.”


End file.
